


Dreaming a Reality

by floofboy



Series: slipping through time [1]
Category: Senyuu. (Anime & Manga)
Genre: 0verse, Arranged Marriage, Beta Elf's Universe, Dream Communication, Elf's Universe, Fix-It, Light Angst, M/M, but both Alba and Hime-chan are very upfront about cooperating to get out of this, not between Alba and Ros for obvious reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28689312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floofboy/pseuds/floofboy
Summary: Alba spent almost a decade working as the Great Mage of the Kingdom, only to learn he had been deceived by the King all along. That his inventions weren't used only for good, that the King had conquered half the world using the tools he had made.The obvious solution is to plan an escape, and so that's what he does.(But why is he dreaming of a man with red eyes?)
Relationships: Alba Frühling/Ross | Creasion, Great Mage Alba/Hero Sion
Series: slipping through time [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2102892
Comments: 13
Kudos: 28





	Dreaming a Reality

**Author's Note:**

> This work is set in the beta 0verse, which you can read about [here](https://ch.nicovideo.jp/haruhara-ch/blomaga/ar1938422) if you purchase Haruhara's notes.
> 
> If you're not familiar with the beta 0verse and would like to know the original fates of the characters there, you can hover over the following names on desktop. Totally fine to go in blind too though- it might even be more fun that way, since you'll avoid "spoilers" :p
> 
>   * Hero Sion
>   * Great Mage Alba
>   * Salt
> 

> 
> If you're on mobile, you can jump to the end notes to see the original fates, then tap "Top" to get back up to the top.

Alba Frühling is to be wed to the Princess in a year’s time. 

Alba imagines the news has been spread across most major cities in the Kingdom by now, and he imagines as well that no one is surprised by it. 

Alba, firstborn son of the former court doctor Cran Frühling. Alba, the infamous soldier turned royal researcher. Alba, whose inventions were key to helping the King conquer half the world. 

“It’s only natural that the King wishes to reward him,” some might say, loudly with no fear. 

Others, quieter, might sneer in hushed whispers- “It’s only natural that the tyrant wants to keep his weapon close.”

In the end, the whispers are closer to the truth.

* * *

Almost a decade ago now, the King selected seventy-five soldiers and sent them each off on a journey. 

Alba was one of those soldiers.

The King gave only one order- _Achieve something of merit._

He claimed, at the time, that the seventy-five were descendants of one of the two great heroes. That it was only natural that they could accomplish great things, with the blood of Noble Sion or Brave Crea flowing in their veins. 

Older, wiser by at least a bit, Alba knows now that was utter nonsense. But sixteen year-old Alba, a fresh-faced new recruit desperate to make a name for himself, had bought into the King’s words entirely. The King wouldn’t _lie_ \- so Alba must be a descendant! He must be destined for great things!

He had been so utterly naïve. 

(And that had been how the King took advantage of him.)

It would’ve been better if Alba had never achieved anything of merit. If he had come back, tail between his legs, and given up on being a soldier, much less one of the chosen seventy-five. Went back home, maybe even studied to be a doctor like his father. 

Unfortunately, fate hadn’t been so kind to the world, and Alba happened upon the ruins. 

It was a crumbled mess of a building of some sort, centuries old at least. Perhaps it was large at some point, but by the time Alba happened upon it, all that was left was some carved stones that barely traced the perimeters of a few rooms. 

Alba was disappointed when he arrived, but he hadn’t given up so easily, not when he had spent so long searching for old ruins of this sort. For two days, he investigated every inch of the area. Until finally, he found the entrance to the basement, buried under only a foot of dirt. The dungeons, really- the iron bars made that much clear, though most of the few cells were caved in. 

But one wasn’t. 

And that was where Alba found the Mana Maker, and the Great Calamity’s notebook beside it.

* * *

The Mana Maker had absorbed itself into Alba’s body the moment he touched it, and Alba is fervently thankful for that today. The thought of the King with _mana_ on top of all of his ambition and cruelty is not something Alba likes to dwell on long. 

The notebook hadn’t though, and once Alba gingerly flipped through the pages to realize what it was, he immediately set back off to the capital to present it to the King. 

But the notebook was made with mana, and it wasn’t readable by anyone without it- another blessing. That being said, Alba hadn’t seen it as such a blessing at the time, flushed red and desperately trying to explain to the King why this dingy notebook was so important when no one could read it but him. 

Here again, the world would’ve been better off if the King had laughed and expelled Alba as a fraudster. 

Except the Mana Maker within him had responded to his heightened negative emotions - shame, fear - and burst into action, hiding him within an opaque protective shell. 

And so Alba’s claims were proven.

* * *

Alba spent the next decade making terrible mistakes. 

And true, he had been lied to. Perhaps the King had realized someone like Alba wouldn’t willingly agree to help him wage war. 

But he shouldn’t have been such an idiot. He should’ve paid more attention outside of his lab, even despite the King doing his best to shut him away from the outside world, from outside news. 

He should’ve realized that there were other uses for the inventions that he created. That a machine to spray pesticides over crops could be used to spray poison into armies, that preserving food with stasis spells just meant armies could march for longer. 

It shouldn’t have taken him years to realize that the King was secretly using his inventions for more than he claimed, years to realize that it wasn’t a coincidence that the Kingdom’s mass expansion coincided with the start of his employment. 

In the end though, it takes his father returning from the battlefronts for him to learn the truth. That his father has been tending to wounds made by Alba’s inventions, that the damage he caused through his ignorance was immeasurable. 

His father may not have blamed him, but he couldn’t turn his eyes away from reality. He may have screwed up royally, he may have brought war and terror to people just as the Great Calamity had before him, but Alba refused to believe it was inevitable. There was so much _good_ that could be done with magic, in the right hands. 

He had the responsibility to see that through. 

Late was better than never, and so Alba, still an idiot, confronted the King. 

“I quit,” he said harshly. 

That should’ve been enough to get him thrown him in jail, though Alba hadn’t had the forethought to realize that. The King’s chief researcher and key to his wars wouldn’t be allowed to quit so easily- and expressing such desires might even be considered traitorous. 

Alba had always been lucky if nothing else though, so the King, taking it in stride, laughed heartily. 

“No need to say anything more, lad!” the King said brightly. “I was just thinking you deserved some more compensation as well.”

“What,” Alba said, flatly confused. 

“Though I will say,” continued the King, his gaze narrowing. “You’re young, and may not know, but it’s best not to escalate so quickly in these kinds of negotiations.” He laughed again. “I almost thought you were serious-”

Alba opened his mouth again, ready to inform the King that _yes,_ he was entirely serious-

But the King’s next words had him slamming his mouth back shut. 

“-I was about to call for the guards!”

That was enough to get Alba realizing the trouble he might have landed himself into. 

The King declaring he would bring Alba into the royal family is just the nail in the coffin.

* * *

The Kingdom has no nobles. 

There are families that are older and grander than others, certainly. Alba recalls, vaguely, that his mother is distantly related to House Paulred, known for producing many capable ministers. 

But the country has no dukes, no earls, not even any knights. Not in the way most countries bordering them did. Alba dutifully learned about all this in his classes at the village school, from the one dusty textbook shared among all the children. 

It’s part of why members of the royal family are nameless, why even those who became royalty by marriage discard their names as well. Too many rulers of eras past detested the idea of marrying only a politically suitable match, and the Kingdom had been strong enough even then to pay little attention to the small countries on its borders. 

So the nobility had been abolished, the royalty had shed their names and married who they pleased, commoner or no. When there were no noble families to raise a fuss, and no name connected with their previous life, what did it matter if the King Consort used to be Jonas the Fishmonger? 

All this should’ve been was a fascinating history lesson to a young Alba and nothing more. While every kid joked around at some point about becoming a King or Queen Consort, everyone knew there was no chance of it actually happening. 

Unfortunately, it’s become a reality for Alba, and unlike in all those childhood fantasies it’s the last thing he wants. He may not have anyone he likes, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be thrown into a marriage with someone he didn’t know!

And he doubts the Princess is any more pleased about this than he is. Wasn’t a hatred for political marriages the whole reason why the nobility was abolished in the first place?

So he hopes, vaguely, that the Princess will do something about this all. 

But he can’t put all his hope in the Princess. He knows barely anything about her, and even if she solves this marriage issue, there’s still a bigger issue at hand. 

Accomplishing his actual end goal- escaping the Kingdom, and bringing mana and magic to the world at large. 

Thankfully, despite how much of a power-hungry tyrant the King is, he’s also an utter moron when it comes to certain things. This marriage business is one of them, because as far as Alba can tell, the King has decided to put everything on hold in order to prepare for the wedding. 

So, he has one year to figure out what to do. 

One year, because the next time King asks for more mana and innovations for war, Alba will say no. 

And then he’ll be thrown in prison for life.

(Or worse.)

* * *

Of course, one year is a generous estimate. Alba can’t say for sure that the King - or any of the smarter ministers around him - won’t ask him for anything earlier. 

(And Alba knows better now than to agree to anything anymore, no matter how innocuous it may seem.)

He can’t even say for sure whether or not the King is suspicious of him. It is true that Alba had tried to quit, even if the King had seemed to laugh it off as a bad negotiation tactic. He wouldn’t be surprised if the guards came for him when he least suspected it. 

So when Alba retires to his rooms that night, he takes the Calamity’s notebook with him, and slips it into his waistband. 

Maybe it’s just a meaningless precaution. If any guards come for him, it would be a matter of routine to frisk him for anything. 

But it makes him feel better to have the dangerous notebook close by. 

He may be the only one with a Mana Maker - the notebook doesn’t describe how to make one, and Alba has no clue how to either. But you don’t need a Mana Maker to have mana- his apprentice Salt shows that much. 

The notebook contains far too many nasty spells to leave lying around in a castle he no longer trusted. 

It’s no surprise that his sleep is fitful that night. 

But despite all his fears, it’s still a surprise when he opens his eyes to a stone cell.

* * *

Alba’s first reaction is, naturally, to yelp. 

“What?!” he sputters, jumping back from the cracked stone wall in front of him. Frantically, he glances around. There’s rusted metal bars to his left, a torch burning dully in the hallway outside, windowless stone walls surrounding him-

A black-haired man sitting on the ground behind him, staring up at him in dull curiosity. 

Alba stares. He can’t help it - he’s rather confused.

The man seems fairly young, no older than Alba at the very least. He’s not wearing typical prisoner garb, but his tunic is threadbare and his pants ratty - he certainly doesn’t look too out of place with their surroundings. 

(His eyes are a pure red, a striking colour even in the torchlight, and Alba may get a little distracted for a moment or two.)

But observing the man does nothing to solve Alba’s confusion. He didn’t think they would throw him in jail with someone else. 

So, figuring that getting more information never hurt anyone, he asks- “Who are you?” 

The man opens his mouth, blinks his eyes once, then says a stream of utterly incomprehensible words. 

“What was that?” Alba tries again. 

The man frowns, then speaks again. Out comes more words Alba can’t quite understand. It doesn’t sound completely foreign, he feels as though he can almost recognize parts of it- but in the end, it doesn’t become a coherent whole. 

Alba still has no clue what he’s saying. Was this another language? Did the King send him _abroad_ to be jailed?

Finally, the man sighs, and with a twitch of his fingers, brings a blue flame to flicker by his head. In this cell that had only been illuminated by only dim torchlight, it feels as bright as the sun. 

But Alba, naturally, takes the sudden appearance of magical fire in stride, like any good mage would. 

(He yelps and stumbles backwards onto the floor, slamming hard against the cracked stone.)

The man snorts. “Have you never seen magefire before?”

“It was just really dark in here, okay!” Alba snaps defensively. “It took me off-guard-” He pauses, face brightening. “Wait, you’re speaking properly now.”

“From my perspective,” drawls the man, “You’re the one speaking ‘improperly’.”

And Alba coughs, flushing red in shame. That was rude of him. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t really matter,” the man says with a shrug. “More importantly-” he raises an eyebrow. “Who exactly are you?”

“That’s my line,” Alba complains. “Who are _you?_ Where are we?”

The man’s gaze is unamused. “You’re the one who teleported here, you realize.”

“I did what?”

There’s a frown on the man’s face now. “I assumed you were here to-” he shakes his head. “Whatever. Really, who are you then? I’ve never heard of any oth- any magic users with enough power to teleport.”

“I’m Alba-” Alba starts automatically, then cuts himself off, hesitating. 

Was that a mistake? If he’s in a foreign country, he doubts that their citizens think highly of the Kingdom and Alba himself- and rightfully so. 

There’s no flash of recognition in the man’s eyes, and so Alba considers stopping there. 

But Alba has always been the honest sort, and it doesn’t feel quite right, hiding his identity for his own gain from someone who might despise him. 

In the end, he timidly continues, “I’m the Great Mage of the Kingdom.” 

The man bursts into laughter, and Alba can do nothing but stare in blatant confusion. 

“T-the,” the man snickers again, wiping a tear from his eye, “The _Great Mage?_ ” 

“Yes,” Alba says, a little defensively. Did the man think Alba was lying?

“Of all the arrogant, stuck-up titles to pick…” the man chortles again. “So, ‘Great Mage’, what makes you so great?”

Alba finds himself flushing in shame yet again. “I mean- I didn’t pick the title!” 

The King had dubbed him “Great Mage” all those years ago, after he presented the Calamity’s notebook to him. Granted, he still wasn’t entirely sure what it was supposed to mean, but he didn’t think it sounded that bad!

“Anyways, I introduced myself,” Alba says, hurriedly changing the subject. “Now it’s your turn.”

In a blink of an eye, the man’s expression returns to neutrality. 

“Hm,” the man says, contemplative. “Why should I?”

“Wha-” sputters Alba, “Why wouldn’t you?”

The man examines Alba with some vague interest. “You really don’t know who I am?”

“Now who’s the arrogant one?” Alba grumbles. 

“Still you,” the man says without missing a beat. “But well, I suppose you can call me-”

But before Alba can catch the response, the world blurs around him. 

And his eyes blink open to his bed.

* * *

It was a disturbingly vivid dream, one Alba is almost certain has something to do with magic. But there’s never been anything about dreams described in the Calamity’s notebook, and Alba has no other source of knowledge to refer to. So there’s not much he can do but leave it be for now, and see what happens tonight when he sleeps again. 

And so, he simply goes about his day as normal. 

(Thankfully, thus far the King has been happy running off doing his own thing without involving either Alba or the Princess. 

Alba hopes it stays that way.)

While the castle sometimes makes requests of him, he isn’t punished when he can’t accomplish them. The majority of his inventions are things he’s recreated from the notebook, or ideas of his own making. 

So despite being employed by the castle, Alba is typically left to his own devices. No one really understands magic, after all, not even him- despite his grandiose title. 

Maybe it was a little arrogant to call himself a ‘Great’ Mage, fine! But it wasn’t as though anyone else was any better-

He pauses. 

He hadn’t thought about it at the time, the new situation so strange and bizarre it had completely flown over his head, but-

_How could that man use magic?_

It was an obvious oddity to his dream. The only other person Alba knows who can use mana is Salt, and even then it’s barely anything compared to how much Alba can wield with his Mana Maker. 

And it’s not for lack of trying. Years ago, Alba remembers going through what must’ve been hundreds of prospective apprentices- but in the end, no one had actually shown any talent. 

Perhaps the dream had just been a dream after all, not connected to any reality. 

(Somehow though, Alba gets the feeling that isn’t the case.)

* * *

“Morning, Alba-san,” Salt says with a yawn as he walks into their lab. “What we doing today?”

“Morning,” Alba greets from a rather cluttered desk. “I was just gonna keep working on the light making.”

“Sounds good to me,” Salt says casually, then makes his way to his own desk. 

They’ve been working on trying to make some form of permanent magical lighting for a while. While they can both conjure magical flame, it sucks up their mana to use, and a non-mage obviously can’t make any use of it. If they succeeded, it would make for a vast improvement over candles or torches. 

But despite how innocuous the concept seems, Alba now finds himself leery of completing it. How would the King misuse this invention? Would he have his armies march in the dead of night?

His gaze is drawn towards Salt, who’s now frowning over some papers without a care in the world. 

Alba hasn’t told Salt about the King just yet. 

It isn’t that he doesn’t trust Salt, because he certainly does. Salt is a good kid, and Alba knows he would be horrified at what the King has done with some of their inventions. 

He just doesn’t want to worry Salt just yet, not when he doesn’t have a solution. A solution that lets them escape, stops the King from abusing their creations anymore, spreads magic to the masses the way it should be. 

Alba glances back down at his desk, considering. 

While he has no idea where to start when it came to organizing an escape… he does have one advantage that most wouldn’t. 

Why not make use of it?

He slides the mess of glass and metal on his desk to the side, then grabs a fresh piece of paper. 

Time to brainstorm.

* * *

Sleep doesn’t come easily to him that night. 

There’s still all his worries about his absolute farce of an engagement, about the King, about everything, but more than that… he feels anxious about dreaming again. 

And because of that, he can’t seem to fall asleep. 

With a loud sigh, he shifts his position in bed once more, trying to get himself more comfortable, when- 

“So this is the kind of place a ‘Great Mage’ sleeps in?”

Alba jerks up in bed immediately, eyes blown wide. 

The man from yesterday is peering at him with a smirk, still wearing the same dull, threadbare clothing. The blue magefire is still burning by his forehead, lighting him and the room in dim light. 

And Alba is decidedly confused. 

“How?” Alba says incredulously. 

“Same as you,” the man says with a shrug. “It wasn’t hard to follow you back into your dreams.” 

Alba blinks, looking around. “This is a dream?”

“Obviously,” the man says snidely. “You can’t even tell that much, _Mage_?”

The words are dripping with sarcasm, and Alba can’t help but bristle. 

“How can you even use magic?” Alba demands, annoyed. “I know more about magic than the few I know who can actually use it, and even that’s only because I got lucky and- I got lucky.”

Alba reconsiders telling this stranger about the notebook and the Mana Maker, but he still doesn’t understand how anyone else could learn to use magic so well without its help. 

The man just laughs. “So now you’re claiming you know more about magic than even Rchimedes? I’m beginning to get curious about exactly how far your arrogance goes.”

“I obviously meant people from here and now, not a thousand years ago!” Alba sputters. “I know I’m nowhere near the level of the Great Calamity.”

The man falls silent at that, giving him an odd look.

“...Here and now, huh?” he says. 

“Yes!”

“Alright.” A snide look returns to the man’s face. “But I’m here right now, so clearly you don’t ‘know more about magic than anyone you know’ anymore.”

“That’s what I’m asking you about,” grumbles Alba. “How did you learn magic?”

“Hm… do you really want to know?” 

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t,” Alba says, really starting to get tired of this back-and-forth. 

“I learned from my father,” the man answers with a shrug. “Well, in a way.”

Alba’s brows furrow. “And how did your father learn it?”

“He discovered it himself,” the man replies. 

“He rediscovered magic on his own?” Alba asks, disbelief apparent in his voice. 

The man shrugs as if to say, _What can you do?_

“Anyways,” the man says, turning around. “I’ve satisfied my curiosity well enough.” He raises a hand in farewell. “Don’t visit my dreams, would you? It’s a bother.”

Alba opens his mouth to respond, because there’s plenty to say to that, starting from _I don’t know how_ and ending with _But what about_ my _curiosity?_

But the man disappears and the world blurs once more, and Alba loses his chance.

* * *

Alba is in a rather ill mood the next morning, for obvious reasons. 

The Princess herself coming to visit him just makes it worse. 

“Could you stand back?” she asks politely to the host of guards that had marched into Alba’s lab along with her. 

His lab isn’t small by any means, but it isn’t meant to hold a princess and a squad of six guards. It feels rather suffocating. 

“But, Hime-san,” objects one of the guards, frowning. 

“Surely I can chat for a few moments alone with the man who’s to be my husband,” the Princess says, a sardonic tint to her voice now. 

The guards still seem hesitant, but there’s not much they can say to refute that point. With some reluctance, they shuffle out of the room. 

“And Salt-kun, if you would,” the Princess asks next. 

“Good luck,” Salt hisses, then grabs a book and heads out of the lab as well. 

Alba has been left alone with the Princess. 

For the first time in his life. 

The atmosphere is so incredibly awkward he wants nothing more than to go hide in a hole. 

Unfortunately though, there’s no holes to be found in his lab, so with no other choice, Alba asks- “Was there something you wanted to discuss, Princess?”

“Just call me Hime-chan,” the Princess - Hime-chan? - says, her speech going surprisingly casual. Pulling up a chair, she sits herself down in front of Alba’s desk with a serious expression. “Listen.”

Alba turns his head to the side, a little confused. 

Hime-chan’s voice goes quiet. “You don’t want this any more than I do, right?”

It’s quite the relief to hear a confirmation like that coming from the Princess. Alba nods firmly. 

“Good,” she says, still quiet. “I know what my father has done with your inventions, and I know my father isn’t letting you leave. I’m gonna try to get you out of here, I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page before I started on anything.”

Although that’s nice to hear… it’s no good on its own. 

“Pri- Hime-chan,” Alba says, careful to keep his voice as low as hers. “I get you’re only helping me out so we don’t have to marry. But…” He bites his lip for a moment, then continues, “Please get Salt out instead of me.”

There’s a flash of confusion in Hime-chan’s eyes, so Alba clarifies. 

“The King won’t ever stop chasing me down,” he says calmly. “He might even go after my parents, or my village, to try to get me to come back.”

“That won’t happen,” Hime-chan says, voice firm. “He’d lose too much public support- kin punishment was abolished centuries ago. I promise you, your family will be safe. He can’t afford to lose any more goodwill right now.”

“I guess I’ll trust you on the politics,” says Alba, though he’s still a little doubtful, “But, either way- he wouldn’t ever give up, would he? And he’d try to force Salt to do what I was doing, and to repair and improve the things I made, and-”

“-I get it,” Hime-chan cuts in. “I don’t want my dad to take over the world any more than you do- I’m not just doing this because of the ridiculous marriage my dad is forcing us into.” She hesitates for a moment, then continues, “I thought that your apprentice wouldn’t know enough to be dangerous, but if you think he would, I’ll try to get him out as well.”

“Thank you,” Alba says sincerely, “But still, it’ll be a lot more dangerous for him if I came with him…”

“Trust me,” Hime-chan responds, smiling a little wryly. “You’re not going to be the only high profile person from the castle on the run.”

And while Alba would certainly like to know more about _that,_ Hime-chan refuses to clarify, and Alba is in no position to argue. 

“I’ll stay in touch,” she says as she gets up.

Alba just nods.

* * *

After two nights of vivid dreams, Alba isn’t shocked that night when he opens his eyes to that same stone cell. When he turns around, the man is sitting there again, glaring up at him this time. 

“Didn’t I tell you not to visit?” the man demands. 

“I don’t know how!” Alba snaps, frustrated. “I don’t even know why I’m here in the first place.”

The man just rolls his eyes. “‘Great Mage’, huh?”

“...Shut up,” grumbles Alba. 

“Well, fine,” the man says with a sigh. “I can teach you how to leave. It’s not that hard, really- I assume you’re familiar with some shortest path algorithms at least?”

“Shortest…?” Alba’s gaze goes blank. 

“Like Dira’s,” the man says impatiently, “Or Bellhaste-Flan.” 

Alba mouths the words uncomprehendingly. 

“You-” the man seems lost for words. He pinches his nose. “Tell me what you _do_ know about graph theory.”

“Sorry, what’s a…” Alba wrinkles his nose. “Graf?” 

The man stares at him incredulously for a few moments, then whips out his foot to trip Alba to the floor. The stone floor is hard, and it hurts quite a bit to slam against it. 

“What was that for?!” Alba cries, scrambling back up into a sitting position. 

“You were annoying me.”

“Who trips someone into rock just because they’re annoying-” Alba starts, but he’s cut off by a book slamming into his face with a thump. 

“Read that,” the man orders. “How are you able to use any magic without knowing basic mathematics?” 

Alba can’t help but make a face. He’s never liked math. 

“What does math have to do with magic?” 

“Everything,” the man says, unamused. “Just read it, would you?”

Then the man closes his eyes and leans back onto the wall, clearly uninterested in any further conversation. 

With a sigh, Alba looks down at the book that’s fallen into his lap. It has a plain leather cover with no title, so he flips open to the first page. 

And frowns. 

“What language is this?” Alba asks. 

He feels as though he can make out the occasional word, but most of it is incomprehensible. Strange symbols litter the text as well. 

The man’s eyes blink back open. “You can’t read it?”

Alba shakes his head. 

The man clicks his tongue in obvious displeasure. “Fine then.” 

“What does that-” A notebook slams into his face. “-mean-” A pen almost stabs into his eye, and that’s the last straw. “Stop throwing things!” 

“Take notes,” the man orders, “I’m going to teach you myself.”

“Wait, really?” Alba says, surprised. The man seemed so annoyed about all this, he wouldn’t have thought he would want to go to the bother. 

“I don’t have much of a choice now, do I?” the man says crossly. “You better listen closely.”

The man’s rudeness and holier-than-thou attitude has done little to endear him to Alba. But it does seem as though he knows more about magic than Alba does, and magic knowledge is precious beyond compare. 

Alba is an adult. He can suck it up for a bit. 

“Okay,” he says, and opens the notebook.

* * *

Alba, as a student, has always been decidedly mediocre. He’s never been the worst in class, but the title of “best” has always been far out of his reach. 

Though it’s been a decade since he’s last stepped into a classroom, it seems as though that much hasn’t changed. Much to the man’s displeasure. 

Alba gets the feeling that the man has always been as far from mediocre as can be. He speaks of complex concepts as though they’re nothing but simple arithmetic, and he struggles to understand where and why Alba is getting caught up on things. 

But despite the caustic words and rude attitude, Alba finds the man is a decent teacher, if not a good one. He pokes and prods until he figures out where the point of confusion is, then does his best to clarify. 

After almost a month spent cramming what the man calls “basic” mathematics though, Alba has reached his limit. 

“Can we take a break today?” Alba pleads. 

The man just sneers. “Fine, then go away.”

“You know I still can’t,” whines Alba. “Can’t we-”

“-Fine, then sit in the corner and pretend to be a rock until the night ends,” the man says, waving a hand dismissively. 

“Do you hate me that much?!” Alba sputters. “I just thought that we could, you know, talk a bit! Make conversation!” He slumps. “You said you satisfied your curiosity, but _I_ still have a lot of questions, you know…”

Unsurprisingly, the man looks disgruntled. But nonetheless, he still answers with a curt, “Fine. I can’t promise I’ll answer though.”

“I just- what’s your name?” 

The man blinks. “Did I never give you one?”

“No, you didn’t!”

“Wow. All this time together, and you never even bothered to ask for my name.” The man gazes up at him as though he’s no better than a speck of dirt marring his shoes. “Disgusting.”

“How is it my fault?” Alba complains. It’s the man who’s been shoving equation after equation at Alba, not giving him a chance to even breathe. But in the end, he sighs and lets it go. “Just tell me your name?”

“Hm,” the man says in contemplation, then shrugs. “You can call me Ros.”

“Ros,” Alba murmurs. He’s glad to finally have a name to put with the face. 

The man - Ros, he supposes - leans back against the wall, closing his eyes once more. “Did that satisfy your curiosity?”

“No, I-” Alba hesitates a moment before continuing. “Why are you in a cell?”

When the m- Ros had visited Alba in his dreams, their surroundings had been identical to Alba’s bedroom in reality.

And in Ros’ dream, their surroundings are a cramped, dingy dungeon cell. 

“I killed a man.”

The voice is dry, sardonic, and for a moment Alba takes it seriously. 

“Don’t joke around about this,” Alba grumbles. 

“Who says I’m joking?” Ros says, his mouth twisting up into a smirk. 

Alba’s heart skips a beat. 

“You’re joking, right?” Alba asks. There’s silence for a moment, two, so Alba asks again- “Right?”

Ros remains silent for a little bit longer, but finally, at last, he snorts loudly, looking back up at Alba. “I suppose I can tell you the whole story, if you really want to know.” 

Alba perks up. He’s always liked a good story, and he’s always liked satisfying his curiosity. “Of course!”

“Alright,” Ros says, looking a little subdued now for once. “I told you my father discovered magic, didn’t I?”

Alba nods. 

“Well,” continues Ros, “He did nothing good with it.” He shrugs, bitterness staining his voice. “Pillaging villages, destroying farmland, flooding cities with sand… he was a monster.” 

“Like the Calamity,” Alba says quietly. 

Ros laughs humourlessly. “Yes. _Exactly_ like the Great Calamity. So.” He shrugs again. “I set off with my best friend, and I killed him.”

Ros’ voice is purposefully steady, his face purposefully blank. If his father had been as bad as the Calamity, there must’ve been no other choice but to kill him. 

But it was still his father, and Ros seems far from happy about it. 

So Alba reaches out with words of comfort, as hollow as they might be. “I’m sorry.”

“What for? He deserved to die.” Ros’ eyes flick closed again. “I know that. Cr- my best friend knew that too. That’s why he died to help defeat him.” 

“I’m sorry,” Alba says again, his voice going a little wretched. “I didn’t mean to-”

“-Bring up bad memories?” Ros waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I wanted to tell you.” His eyes open, meeting Alba’s steadily. “I thought about it, and I decided I want at least someone to know.”

Alba still feels bad, but it’s too late now to take anything back. So he does the only thing he can- “I promise I’ll remember.” He hesitates. “But- I still have a question.”

“You want to know how I ended up in a cell, right?” Ros smiles helplessly. “The sins of the father are the sins of the son.”

“What?” Alba says, dismayed. “That’s- that’s completely unfair! They can’t just-”

“They can, and they have.” Ros shrugs. “Five years after I killed Rc- my father, an army thousands strong from the kingdom next door marched into my country, ready to subjugate him. But of course, my father was long since dead by then.” His gaze turns up towards the ceiling. “The kingdom had spent countless piles of gold, wasted countless resources, conscripted countless men, all for this subjugation. They couldn’t possibly return empty-handed.”

“They took you instead,” Alba says numbly. 

“They took me instead,” says Ros, nodding. “And I’ve been stuck here ever since.”

* * *

Alba thinks what angers him the most is the utter injustice of it all. 

It would’ve been unjust even if Ros had been nothing but a simple villager. But the fact that he had set off himself to defeat his father? The fact that he had lost his best friend in order to do it?

It makes it completely intolerable, and if Alba ever gets the chance to see the face of the ruler who made the decision to imprison Ros for life, he would punch them in the face. 

(Though Ros had just laughed at him when he told him that, he’s completely serious.)

Alba lies in bed for a little longer than usual that morning, and thinks. 

If he escapes the Kingdom- if he makes his way to whatever far-off country Ros is imprisoned in-

Could he save Ros?

He’s still so _angry._ Ros may be rude, caustic, and utterly merciless as a teacher, but he didn’t deserve this. 

(And Alba thinks he can forgive a bit of rudeness at this point, considering what Ros is dealing with.)

Even putting aside the injustice of it all, saving Ros would certainly help turn the tides against the Kingdom. With how much Ros knew, it would be easy to popularize magic in the bordering countries. Maybe he would even know a way to help stop the Kingdom from misusing its tools. 

But to do that, he would first need to find Ros, in reality. 

Alba scowls to himself. 

Ros had refused to give him any details, not even the name of the country he was imprisoned in. And he had refused to tell him why either. 

But surely there must be some clues out there. Countries that had faced natural disasters on the scale Ros described… there must be news, records somewhere. 

And he thinks he knows who might be able to help him with it.

* * *

The Princess - or well, Hime-chan, as Alba reminds himself again - was never someone that he could visit so easily. As a member of the royal family, her visitors were strictly screened, and a mere castle employee like Alba coming just to visit would never be approved. 

But Alba has never had the desire or the inclination to go visit the royal family, so it hasn’t been a problem. 

Now, however, he does have a reason to go visit her. 

And conveniently, he now also has the means. 

“Could you tell the Princess I’m here?” Alba asks the pair of guards in front of Hime-chan’s office. 

The guards sizes him down - Alba squirming a little under the intense gaze - but in the end, they nod, and one of them slips through the door. 

He hears some muffled voices, then out comes _three_ guards from the room. One of them keeps the door open for him, and Alba stares inside. 

“Come in,” Hime-chan says from her desk, expression perfectly polite. 

Alba nods at the guards, then nervously steps in. The door slams shut behind him. 

“Come closer,” Hime-chan says, her face going serious. “What did you want to discuss?”

While he wanted to discuss the information he had about Ros’ country, first things first-

“About- you know what...” he says quietly. 

He says no specifics, but thankfully the meaning still comes across. 

“I don’t have much news for you right now,” Hime-chan says apologetically. “But I promise you it’s in progress. I want to keep things on the down-low until I know more for sure.” Her gaze is steady. “Give me a few months, and I’ll have more for you. My father will be more distracted the closer it gets to the final date anyways.”

“Alright,” Alba says easily. 

He doesn’t have too much faith in the Princess, at least not enough to trust her fully when it comes to something as important as this. If he had been betting everything on her, he would be wrought with worry by now. 

But Ros’ tutelage, as elementary as it’s been so far, has helped him actually _understand_ certain concepts in the Calamity’s notebook. Before, he had just applied things randomly through trial and error, and certainly that’s helped him create wondrous things. 

It’s just that he didn’t really understand how most of the things he made worked. 

And he still doesn’t, not really- he gets the sense he would have to study for years to truly understand. But he knows enough now to at least actually get started on a certain something that would help immensely in fleeing the country. 

If Hime-chan pulled through, he could tell her about it. 

Until then, he would be keeping his cards close to his chest as well. 

(It still doesn’t feel right, this sneaking and deception, but Alba pushes himself past his feelings of guilt. 

The Princess was a member of the royal family, and it was trusting the King that got him in the trouble he was in now.)

This whole matter was secondary anyways- he had a larger goal for coming to meet the Princess. 

“I was also wondering,” Alba says tentatively, “as the Princess, you have access to more information than I do, right?”

Hime-chan's brow furrows. “Probably, why?”

“I want to look into major events in other countries,” explains Alba, “Earthquakes, desertification, other calamities… but well…”

“There’s no information but rumours or out-of-date books,” Hime-chan finishes, smiling bitterly. “I know the basics of the current geopolitical situation in our neighbouring countries, but I’m blocked from information too. Or well, the whole kingdom is.” She shrugs. “Nobody wants the Kingdom to have too much intelligence on their country right now.”

“That does make sense,” Alba says with a sigh. 

“But I can say that no nearby country has had any calamities like that recently,” Hime-chan continues, “That kinda thing is hard to hide, especially since refugees tend to flee over borders after losing their homes.”

“How about five years ago?” Alba presses. 

But Hime-chan just shakes her head. “There’s been smaller hurricanes and earthquakes, but as far as I know, there haven't been any major natural disasters anywhere near us for over a decade now.”

“I see,” says Alba, deflating. He had hoped otherwise, but Ros must be in a country far from the Kingdom. 

Which meant this would be tougher than he had hoped.

* * *

Alba is rather used to his new routine now. 

During the nights, he crams Ros’ teachings. Sometimes they even talk now, when Alba is desperate for a break and can convince Ros to stop things for the night. They never talk of anything of importance- Ros hasn’t revealed anything more about himself, not since he told Alba his story. So it’s usually Alba blathering on one-sidedly to fill the time, stupid anecdotes and silly childhood stories. 

(Ros never really responds much, but he has started to occasionally smile when Alba talks, so he’ll take that as a win.)

During the days, he sidesteps the King as needed and works surreptitiously on his escape tools when he can. He should really review what Ros teaches him too, but well- he’s never liked studying. Sue him. 

He does begin teaching Salt what he can at least, though he’s fairly sure that his sudden knowledge is making Salt quite suspicious. It can’t be helped- he has no proper explanation for his sudden knowledge. 

Because well, even if he told Salt about Ros, even if Salt believed him, he still doesn’t know what triggered him to step into Ros’ dreams at all. 

Was it some kind of resonance? Did he feel that he was now a prisoner, did he reach out to Ros because he was one as well?

He’s asked Ros about it, but even Ros had no answers for him.

(Or at least, no answers that Ros was willing to give.)

Anyways, despite the undercurrent of fear and worry as he goes about his days, he’s beginning to really enjoy his daily routines. 

Which is why it feels like a punch to the gut when things threaten to come to a completely foreseeable end. 

“You should have enough of a grounding by now,” Ros says, “So I’ll teach you how to control your dreams today.” He snorts. “And then maybe I’ll finally get some peace and quiet.”

Alba freezes solid. He had forgotten why Ros had begun teaching him at all, but now, with those few words, he remembers. 

Ros wants him out.

“Ah, okay,” Alba says, a little weakly. 

(A lot weakly.)

“Now, if you consider a set of dreaming minds to be equivalent to a disconnected graph-”

He couldn’t do this. 

“-Ros.”

Ros blinks, looking rather displeased. “What is it?”

“I- what if, I, um.” Alba coughs. “What if I just, don’t learn how to do this?”

“The whole point of all this was for you to learn,” Ros says, voice icy cold. “You’re almost there. Can’t you suck it up for a few hours more, _Mage_?”

 _I don’t want to just take a break_ , Alba considers saying, but the words dry in his throat. 

Ros’ expression is emotionless, his voice merciless. 

He clearly doesn’t care at all. 

Alba feels pathetic. 

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Sorry, go ahead.”

He’s never had much in the way of friends- rather embarrassing considering his age. He got on with people well enough in the village school, but those connections didn’t last long, and he can’t even remember any of their names anymore. They were friends of convenience and nothing more, Alba supposes. 

The only true friend he’s had would be Salt, but although he cares for him, he knows their relationship is a little awkward at times. Despite the fact that they’re reasonably close in age, the title of “apprentice” makes Salt worship him a little too much, and it’s just too much pressure. Alba can’t meet all of his apprentice’s expectations- sometimes he doesn’t think he’s qualified to have an apprentice at all. 

But Ros- Alba had thought they were getting pretty close. He had thought he was starting to understand the other man, starting to see the wealth of emotions behind that prickly exterior. 

He supposes he was just deluding himself all along. 

So Alba listens silently to Ros’ lecture, forcing himself to swallow back the bitterness that threatens to overwhelm him. He was the one to misunderstand- he wouldn’t do something as pathetic and laughable as to beg to stay. 

“Take a moment to read over your notes before you try anything,” Ros orders as he finishes his lecture, and Alba just nods. 

He half-heartedly reads through his scribbled handwriting, trying to review the concepts he couldn’t quite understand at Ros’ breakneck speed. 

That’s when he freezes. 

Alba flips back a few pages in his notes to the start of the night’s lecture, re-reads every bit as carefully as he can. 

And tentative hope begins to bloom in his chest. 

“Ros,” Alba says, getting to his feet. 

“What?” comes the seemingly uncaring reply. 

“If what you taught me is true…” Alba says carefully. 

“Of course it is,” Ros says with a sneer. 

“Then couldn’t you have blocked me from coming whenever you wanted?” 

Alba is rewarded, much to his surprise and pleasure, with a flustered Ros. 

“How did you-” Ros starts, then coughs. “I mean, what gave you that idea? Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“I mean, considering what you just taught me and what you mentioned a few days ago about the conditions behind creating new paths and vertices, the only reasonable conclusion is tha-”

A foot stomps onto his toes, and Alba yelps in pain. He crouches down rather mournfully to rub at his aching toes, but Ros is remorseless. 

“Shut up,” hisses Ros, face actually _flushing_ now. “We’re not talking about this.”

“Okay,” Alba says, but he can’t stop the wide grin from spreading across his face. 

Ros just glares at him. “And stop looking so smug, Mage.”

“Sorry,” Alba says, not feeling very sorry. The smile stays on his face. 

Maybe Ros has given up though, because all he does is sneer in disgust. 

“Just- review your notes,” he grumbles. 

“Okay,” Alba says again, then- “I’m still coming tomorrow, even if I master this.”

“...Do what you want.”

* * *

Alba is on cloud nine the next day, and it’s obvious to anyone who sees him. 

Most notably, Salt. 

“Did something good happen, Alba-san?” he asks in confusion. “You’ve been smiling all day.”

“Oh, um.” Alba just coughs. “Not really…?”

Salt looks skeptical, but he doesn’t push, so Alba thinks he’s safe. 

Except Salt knocks on his door late that night, and Alba realizes he isn’t. 

“Sorry for coming so late,” says Salt, face set. “I had something I wanted to discuss.”

And while normally Alba might tell Salt to wait until tomorrow, from the expression on Salt’s face, from Salt’s growing suspicions, Alba gets the feeling that he knows what Salt wants to ask. 

Better in the privacy of his room than in his lab where anyone could hear. 

“Alright,” Alba says, stepping back from the door to let Salt in. He shuts the door tightly behind them. 

His room is decently furnished, with a soft mattress on his bed and a nice carved desk in the corner, but it’s not particularly big. Alba sits Salt down on his desk chair, then settles himself down on the side of his bed. 

Then he asks- “What did you want to discuss?”

And Salt, as expected, simply looks at him and asks in turn, “What’s going on?” His hands twist in his lap. “Things have been… _weird_ , the last few months. You’re acting strangely, you suddenly know so much more about magic, and the stuff you’re working on- I can tell it’s not just lights!” 

Alba takes a deep breath. 

He didn’t want to worry Salt. But he knew that at some point he needed to tell him everything about the King, at least so he would understand why they needed to flee. 

From the moment Salt stepped into the room, Alba has already resolved himself for this. 

The only question left is whether to tell him about Ros as well. It is rather unbelievable, the idea that he’s meeting with a master of magic in his dreams- but after a moment of consideration, he decides to tell Salt about it as well. 

If Salt doesn’t believe him, that’s fine. At least he can say he tried. 

“Just… keep an open mind,” Alba says, then proceeds to explain.

* * *

It takes some time for Alba to tell Salt about what’s been going on in the past few months, and by the time he’s done, Salt’s expression is worryingly blank. 

He hasn’t told him everything. Ros’ story, Alba felt, wasn’t something he should spread around without permission. And it felt far too shameful to mention how much he fretted over being Ros’ friend. 

But Salt knows most of the major details now. 

Now the ball is in his court. 

Alba watches Salt carefully, but the other man is silent for a long while, likely processing everything he was just told. 

Salt opens his mouth, then closes it. 

Opens it, closes it. 

This repeats far too many times for Alba’s taste, until finally, Salt asks quietly, “If we left the Kingdom, where would we go?”

“I don’t know what the Princess is planning,” says Alba, completely honest. “But we escape on our own with what I’m making, I was thinking we could go to Tonaari. They’re the biggest country after the Kingdom, and I’ve heard they’re fairly developed.”

Salt bites his lip, falling silent once more. 

“I get that you might not want to leave, but-”

“-That’s not it!” Salt cuts in quickly. “That’s, that’s not it. Alba-san, I don’t want to let the King misuse magic any more than you do. And even putting that aside…” He smiles helplessly. “It isn’t like I have anyone I’d be leaving behind in the Kingdom. I don’t know if I’d even be alive if you hadn’t taken me in.”

“You were just lucky enough to have mana,” Alba corrects, “I can’t take credit for that.”

“Alba-san,” Salt says, hesitating a little before continuing, “I know I wouldn’t have passed that screening without your help.”

And Alba chokes on air, because what Salt is saying is entirely true. 

Years ago, when the King had decided he wanted more mages in his castle, he had ordered Alba to search for apprentices who had talent for magic. 

But the last thing Alba had wanted was a host of apprentices at his beck and call. He was barely an adult, and he barely understood anything about magic too! He wasn’t ready to teach someone. 

He wasn’t about to disobey the King though, so he had dutifully set up a series of tests to check for mana. First they would try to operate a simple mana-powered machine, which a good number of people could manage. Next, they would operate one that required more energy for as long as they could. Only the top ten would be admitted to the final stage, where Alba would teach those who passed how to cast the simplest spell described in the Calamity’s notebook. 

Magefire. 

And only those who managed to cast it would be taken in as an apprentice. 

Except no one seemed to have enough innate talent to do so. Of the ten applicants that had made it to the final stage, none were producing so much as a spark. 

Alba had mixed feelings about this- on one hand, he was glad he wouldn’t have to take in any apprentices, but on the other hand, it was disappointing that so few people had any talent for magic. If Alba hadn’t been lucky enough to find a Mana Maker, he would be among their number. 

Still, it couldn’t be helped. That should’ve been that, if it weren’t for the fact that Alba was given information by an officer about the final ten candidates. 

Most of the candidates were adults with jobs, or the children of well-off families. Alba wouldn’t feel guilty about rejecting them. 

Salt, however, was different. He was a fifteen year-old orphan- and Alba knew what that meant. As soon as he hit sixteen, he would be kicked out of the orphanage to fend for himself. But without references from parents or other adults in his life, it would be difficult for him to make a living. Many adult orphans ended up as beggars on the street for this very reason. 

So Alba had fudged things, just a little. He had made magefire bloom in Salt’s hand with his own power, passed him on the spot and made him his apprentice. 

And after a few months, much to his surprise, Salt gained the ability to cast spells on his own. Once that happened, Alba figured that no one would find out what had really happened that day. 

He hadn’t realized Salt himself had found out. 

“I…” Alba trails off, not sure what to say. 

“I couldn’t actually use magic until months later,” says Salt, “Maybe I just got lucky during the screening, but what are the chances of that? When I realized you already knew I was an orphan before I even told you, and I realized how nice you were, I realized what must’ve happened.” He glances down at the ground. “That’s why I’ve always been immensely grateful to you.”

“You don’t need to,” Alba says quietly. “It isn’t like you asked me to.”

“I’m still grateful,” Salt says, voice set. “So…” he trembles, and so Alba finally realizes why he’s being so hesitant. 

Salt is afraid. 

Alba feels stupid. Of course he is. Alba is too, though his confidence in his magic helps him pretend he isn’t. 

By fleeing, they’re going against the King himself. The Kingdom itself. Of course that’s frightening. 

“Salt-”

“-Let me help,” Salt cuts in. His voice is wavering, but his gaze is determined. “I can help you make the stuff we need. If- if I’m fleeing too, I should be involved the whole way.”

Alba pats Salt on the shoulder, smiling gently. “Thanks, Salt. That’ll be a big help.”

“I’m only doing the bare minimum,” Salt says, shaking his head. 

“Still,” Alba insists, “Thank you.”

And to his relief, Salt finally smiles.

* * *

“Oh, you’re here again,” Ros says snidely. 

“I’m here again!” Alba says brightly. 

Ros just rolls his eyes. “Should I assume you’ve failed to control your dreams, then?”

“I’m pretty sure I can,” Alba corrects, then takes Ros’ hand in his own. 

“What-” Ros sputters in offence, but before he can do anything, Alba _twists_ the way Ros had described and drags them both through a path. 

They land in Alba’s bedroom. 

“It’s nicer to talk here than in that cell, don’t you think?” says Alba. 

Ros just glares and yanks his hand away. “What would you have done if something had gone wrong, you arrogant little mage?”

“In the worst case scenario, both of us would’ve just been jolted awake, right?” Alba shrugs. “That doesn’t seem so bad.”

From Ros’ scowl, Alba surmises he’s correct. 

“Let me make something clear, Mage,” Ros says, voice chilly. “I don’t trust you.”

“Okay,” Alba says easily. 

“I actually mean it,” says Ros, sounding more annoyed than intimidating now. 

“So you’re saying you usually don’t mean what you say?” 

Ros’ scowl deepens. “Shut up. What I’m saying is, I’m not teaching you any more magic. The reason I didn’t block you out immediately was because you were a danger to everyone around you. So I taught you the fundamentals, so I could be sure you had some basic control.” His eyes narrow. “But there’s no reason for me to teach you anything more.”

There’s a lot Alba has to say to that, but first off-

“I was a danger?” Alba asks, dismayed. 

Ros slams two fingers into the middle of Alba’s chest. “You have a Mana Maker, Mage. Do you understand what that means?”

“I have a lot of mana…?”

“Yes, but not only that,” says Ros, “Immense mana affects the world around it. It causes mutations, strange happenings, even death in the worst case scenarios. That’s why you need to understand how magic works, so you can control it.”

Alba starts to pale. “But that’s never happened to me!”

“Because your Mana Maker is attuned to your mana,” Ros continues, “It meant that you had a base amount of control over it, even with your lack of knowledge. That didn’t mean you were any less of a danger though- if your emotions were heightened, things could still leak out without a conscious understanding of magic. So I taught you the basics.”

Alba was starting to get the feeling that he was even luckier than he had thought he was. 

“What do you mean by attuned?” he asks. 

“It means the Mana Maker was dyed with your mana from before you absorbed it,” Ros explains. “It made your body think that the new mana was still a part of itself, and so it suppressed it naturally. Humans aren’t meant to expel mana, after all.”

“How is that possible though?” Alba asks, his brow furrowing. “That Mana Maker must’ve been in that cell for centuries, and I didn’t even know how to use mana before I touched it. How did it get dyed with my mana?”

Ros hesitates, his eyes flicking to the side. 

“I suppose you just got lucky,” he says. “Perhaps the last user of that Mana Maker had a mana wavelength similar to yours.”

Alba just shrugs, figuring that even Ros didn’t know everything. 

“Anyways,” says Alba, “I won’t lie and say I’m not disappointed you won’t teach me anymore, but I understand.”

Ros’ own father had done terrible things with magic. Alba can’t blame Ros for not trusting him, especially considering that Alba must seem rather suspicious, popping up in his dreams out of nowhere. 

Alba continues, “Would you be okay with giving me some advice occasionally though? I’m not sure if I can finish both illusionary spells in time without your help.”

“...I’ll think about it,” Ros says. 

“Okay,” Alba says, then smiles. “I think it could help you escape too.”

Ros rolls his eyes. “This again? I’ve told you before, I’d have nowhere to run to even if I left my cell.” 

“Then just wait until I’ve escaped,” Alba says stubbornly, “And I’ll go pick you up.”

“And you think _you’ll_ have somewhere safe to run to?” Ros says with a sneer. “Your arrogance is as astounding as ever, I see.”

“We won’t know until I try,” insists Alba. 

“Just give it up.” Ros waves a hand dismissively, then smiles. “I’ll be long dead by the time you flee your country anyways.”

The smile on Ros’ face feels a little odd - he can’t quite place the emotion behind it - but it doesn’t make Alba any less annoyed. 

“I won’t take that long!” whines Alba, “I already said I’ll be gone within the year. I’m definitely not staying to get married off.”

“Yes, yes,” Ros drawls, “Whatever you say.”

Alba just scowls. He would make Ros eat his words, eventually. He was sure of it. There was plenty of time for him to figure something out. 

For now though-

“If you don’t wanna teach me anymore,” Alba says with a shrug, “How about we play some games?”

Ros stares at him in confusion. “Some… games?”

“Yeah,” says Alba, “I think I have a deck of cards in my drawers somewhere.” He pauses, glancing around at their dim surroundings. “I guess we’d have to light up the room first though.”

“I’m not going to teach you anything.”

Now it’s Alba’s turn to be confused. “Yeah, you already said.”

Ros’ stare becomes intense enough that Alba begins to get a little uncomfortable. 

“Do you not like card games?” Alba asks. 

Finally, Ros breaks his gaze. “You really are just an idiot, huh?”

“What was that for?!” Alba snaps defensively. 

But Ros, much to his confusion, smiles. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

Then he flicks a few balls of magefire to the ceiling, lighting the room almost as bright as day. 

“Now come on, where are these cards?”

* * *

In the late months of spring, Hime-chan finally follows through with her promise to give Alba more information on her plan. 

It comes in the form of a blond, scarred butler. 

“This is Foyfoy Dran,” Hime-chan says, gesturing towards the man standing behind her. “He’s relatively new to the castle, but he’s already proven himself to be an excellent worker.” She smiles meaningfully. “I was thinking it would be good to assign him to you. You don’t have any dedicated servants, do you?”

Normally, Alba would refuse. He doesn’t want any servants, especially when he’s working on abandoning his duties and escaping- treason, essentially. 

But it’s Hime-chan introducing this servant to him. There must be a reason for it. 

And it isn’t as though he can refuse the Princess without cause. 

“Alright,” Alba says.

And in the evening, in his bedroom alone with this Foyfoy at the man’s request, his suspicions are confirmed. 

“I’m a thief,” Foyfoy says flatly. “A professional one. How did Hime-san find me? You don’t need to know. All you need to know is that we’re leaving during the Lulunlulun Festival in two months.”

He then proceeds to describe his escape plan. It’s not overly complicated, but despite that, Alba can see the amount of work that’s gone into it. It takes into account guard schedules and human error, and maps out their entire path from the castle to the Tonaari capital. 

“Impressive,” is all Alba can say. 

“I’m no Kingdom native,” Foyfoy says with a sharp grin. “Screwing over your king sounds great to me. Plus, Hime-san’s paying me very generously to get you three out of the country. Two birds with one stone, I’d say.”

“Wait, three?” 

“Three.” Foyfoy raises an eyebrow. “You, your apprentice like, and Hime-san. Makes three, yeah?”

“The Princess is fleeing too?!” Alba hisses incredulously. It takes all he has to not raise his voice. 

“‘Course she is.” Foyfoy laughs. “The ministers all want her dead for opposing the Kingdom’s expansion. You think it’s a coincidence that she couldn’t force her way outta her dumb engagement with you? She doesn’t have any power anymore, and her dad’s too much of a moron to do anything about it. The moment the king kicks the bucket, well-”

He slides a finger across his neck. 

“Oh. That, um, sucks,” Alba says lamely. 

“That’s one way to put it.” Foyfoy snorts. 

But if that were the case, then Alba thinks he should be able to trust the Princess a little more.

And even besides that, it wouldn’t hurt to ensure this thief’s loyalty, by offering him something he wouldn’t be able to get anywhere else. 

Someone could always offer more gold, after all. 

“You can contact Hime-chan discreetly, right?” Alba asks. 

“I’m a thief, ‘course I can. That’s what she sent me to you,” Foyfoy says. “Did you wanna tell her something?”

“Yeah,” Alba says, nodding. “Tell her I’ve made a magic tool and a new spell that’ll help a lot with our escape. You’re welcome to take one to keep as well.”

“What kinda magic?” Foyfoy asks in mild curiosity. 

“An amulet that will let us change our appearance,” says Alba, “And a spell to leave an illusionary clone behind.”

* * *

As a thief, Foyfoy is incredibly enthused about the idea of something that would let him freely change his appearance. Alba isn’t sure if it’s the best idea to let a thief have such a powerful tool, but beggars can’t be choosers. He would prefer to have someone familiar with the country they’re fleeing to with them, and it seems Foyfoy fits that bill. 

(The damage a single thief could cause is minimal at least, when compared to the king of a country.)

Besides, the amulet is limited. It doesn’t change them physically - it’s nothing but an illusionary shield, one that could be easily seen through if the illusion didn’t match their bodies. But all they really needed was to look different from their usual selves. The amulet would do. 

They adjust the plan to accommodate the new tools - they don’t need to be as afraid of being discovered anymore, which streamlines some things - and Alba quietly forwards the information to Salt. 

There’s not much preparation to be done before their escape, now that the amulets and spell have been completed. 

Because only Alba and Salt know anything of magic, their research notes and books all live in their office. It would be a simple matter to destroy whatever they couldn’t bring with them before they left. 

Aside from that, they didn’t dare buy anything that could be seen as rations, out of the fear of raising suspicions. They would take their coin purses with them and buy what they needed on the day of the Lulunlulun Festival. 

So, all that’s left to do is wait, really. Live out their normal life, pretend that nothing is wrong. 

Alba finds, however, that there’s one thing he needs to do that Salt and Hime-chan don’t. 

Say his goodbyes.

* * *

“You want to take a two week vacation?”

The chief staff manager for the castle peers up at him from behind her thin glasses. 

“I should have enough days, right?” Alba asks. 

“You certainly have the days,” the manager admits, shifting some papers on her desk. “But you have to understand your position now, Frühling.”

“My position?” echoes Alba. 

“You’re the Princess’ fiancé,” she explains, and Alba holds back his grimace at the reminder. “I’ve been told by the King and the Prime Minister that I’m not to let you out of the castle without a squad of guards. There’s many who don’t think highly of the Kingdom right now, after all.”

“Can’t something be done?” Alba pleads. “I just want to see my parents. Before… you know.”

The manager’s gaze softens with pity. 

Those who married into the royal family were expected to discard their names. As part of that, they were expected to discard their past as well. Family and friends wouldn’t be punished by the law for mentioning their connections to the new royal family member, but it was certainly considered impolite to do so. 

If Alba actually planned to become King Consort, it would be much harder for him to meet his parents once he shed his name. 

“Let me see what I can do,” the manager says, turning to grab some files from the cabinet behind her. 

And after Alba has waited patiently for some time, she smiles up at him. 

“I think I have a solution,” she says. “There’s a squad of soldiers with an injured teammate who’d like to stay by the castle until he recovers. Your parents live in Castle Town, correct? This should be a low-risk mission for them to take on while they’re waiting.”

Alba feels like a weight has been lifted off of him. 

“Thank you so much,” he says fervently. 

“Anytime,” the manager says with a laugh.

* * *

Considering that Alba is being escorted by a squad of guards, he can’t afford to say anything out of line. No mentioning his concerns about the Kingdom’s expansion, and certainly no mentioning the fact that he was about to flee the country. 

But Alba never intended to do that anyways. 

It would put his parents in too much danger if they knew- it’s better, really, that he’s being accompanied by guards who’ll likely pay close attention to anything he says. It’ll give his parents plausible deniability when they say they had no idea about his escape. 

All Alba wants from this vacation is to see his parents. 

(He’ll probably never see them again after all, but thinking of that makes his eyes prick and his throat clench up, so he chooses not to.)

* * *

Alba knocks on the door to his family’s home. 

It’s not his childhood home- they lived in a small village when Alba was growing up, far from the capital. They only moved here after Alba got his job as a soldier at the castle, and then later, his job as a mage. 

But there’s still a room for him here, and that’s more than enough to call it home. 

He doesn’t have to wait long for someone to open the door. 

“Al-tan!” his mother exclaims, looking ecstatic. “You came to visit?”

“I took a couple weeks’ vacation,” Alba says with a subdued smile. “I can stay for a while.”

His mother looks even happier at that. 

“That’s lovely,” she says, then peers behind him. “But who are these ladies and gentlemen?”

“We’ve been dispatched from the castle, ma’am,” the squad leader says politely. “We’ll be keeping your son safe while he stays here.” She pauses, then clarifies, “There’s no need to invite us in. We’ll be staying at an inn nearby in shifts.”

“I see,” Alba’s mother says, her excitement fading a little. “Thank you for your work.”

“Of course,” the squad leader says, as though it’s a matter of course. 

Alba’s mother ushers Alba in, but doesn’t breathe a word about letting the guards in- perhaps she’s realized that Alba isn’t in this situation by choice. 

“Your father is out treating a patient, but he’ll be back in the evening,” his mother says, “For now, sit down! Let’s have some tea.”

Nothing has changed since he last came. It’s all so absolutely normal, and-

Alba, feeling a lump in his throat, can do nothing but nod.

* * *

Neither of his parents mention the upcoming wedding, and they certainly don’t mention his father’s work on the battlefronts. 

Instead, they just make smalltalk. Silly anecdotes about community events in Castle Town, laughing stories about new friends and neighbours. 

Alba does the same the best he can without addressing the elephant in the room. He talks of funny rumours he’s heard in the castle, and odd meals they’ve served in the cafeteria from time to time. 

At night, however, before they retire to their rooms, Midnight draws Alba close and whispers in his ear. 

“Do what you need to, Alba. We’ll be fine.”

Alba’s expression twists. 

“Okay,” he manages to whisper. 

Then he bites down onto his cheeks, desperately stopping himself from reacting any further. 

He’s still in a melancholic mood when he meets Ros that night though, and it’s not hard for Ros to tell. 

It’s also not hard for Ros to tell that his room looks different than usual. 

“Where’s this, Mage?” he asks with vague curiosity. There’s no chair in this room, so he settles himself on the edge of the bed next to Alba. 

“My room in my family’s home,” answers Alba. 

Ros hums. “Family visit not going well?”

“No, it’s going well, it’s great, it’s just-” Alba stares down at the ground. “When I think about how I’m never going to see them again, it just- it hurts.”

Ros is silent for a long while. Alba supposes comfort isn’t exactly Ros’ strong suit, and Alba is fine with that. He just wanted to get it out. 

Then he feels a hand on his shoulder. 

“Don’t look so miserable- it makes you look even worse than you usually do,” Ros says quietly. “You never know- you might be able to see them again. Doesn’t your father travel all over the place?”

Alba hesitates. “He does, but…”

“Just hope for the best,” Ros advises. “A mindset like that is perfect for an idiot like you.”

“Hey!” 

Ros snorts. “You’re looking a little more lively now.”

Alba is _feeling_ a little more lively as well. He smiles slightly at Ros. “Thanks.”

Ros’ hand drops from his shoulder. 

“Don’t mention it,” Ros says with an embarrassed cough.

* * *

The two weeks fly by in the blink of an eye, and soon, he finds himself back in the castle. 

He’s glad he took the time to have this vacation though. He’ll hope to see his parents again, one day, but if he does, it’ll probably be years in the future. At least now he has a few more good memories to look back on with fondness. 

With that, Alba finds himself twiddling his thumbs once more. With the wedding date coming near, he’s actually forced into some preparations - a tuxedo fitting, a vow rehearsal - but they don’t take up too much of his time. 

There’s only so much he can do when it comes to refining their plan to escape, so naturally, he turns his mind towards the future. 

Namely, saving Ros. 

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t tell me what country you’re in, you know,” Alba grumbles. “Once I’m in Tonaari, I’m sure I’ll be able to figure out where you’re from.”

“And I’m saying it’s pointless,” Ros says with no little exasperation. “You should focus on your magic popularization plan or whatever.”

They’re back in Alba’s room in the castle, sitting side-by-side on the needlessly soft mattress with magefire burning above them. 

It’s comfortable enough, but it would be even more comfortable if Ros would hurry up and tell him where he was captured. 

“Saving you isn’t pointless!” 

Ros just sighs. “Will you give up if you don’t find any information in Tonaari?”

“Of course not,” Alba says stubbornly. “I’ll just have to search harder.”

Ros frowns at that. 

“What if you can’t visit my dreams any longer?” he presses, “What if you’ve travelled the whole world, and you still can’t find me? What if decades pass, and you’re old and greying?”

“Why do you keep giving me stupid hypotheticals?” Alba complains. “Well, the answer is still no.” His eyes narrow. “I’m not going to give up, Ros. So you might as well give in first.”

But Ros just looks dismayed. 

“Alright,” he says quietly. 

Alba perks up immediately. “Are you going to tell me where you are?”

“Yes,” says Ros dully, “because I get the sense it’s the only way to make you give up.”

Alba’s brow furrows.

“Mage, you said you were fleeing on… Lunlunlun?” Ros says, abruptly changing the subject. 

“Lulunlulun,” Alba corrects. “But yes.”

“It’s a holiday at the end of July?”

Alba nods. “You’re supposed to dress up in costumes and try to hide yourself from your friends. You don’t have that where you’re from?”

“No,” says Ros, “But we do have the Festival of the Sun around the same time. The whole country congregates at the capital, dancing in costumes, watching the entertainment.” He shrugs. “It’s meant to appease the sun in the hopes that August will bring less harsh weather.”

“I don’t think Lulunlulun has any meaning like that,” says Alba, “They say it’s the day the Great Calamity was defeated though.”

And Ros suddenly breaks into hysterical laughter. 

“Ros?” Alba asks, alarmed. 

It takes some time for Ros to compose himself enough to talk, but even once he does, his eyes are wild. 

“Let me correct myself,” Ros breathes, “The Festival of the Sun must be the exact same day as Lulunlulun. It’s in seventeen days, right?”

Alba nods cautiously. 

“Now,” Ros says, smiling sharply. “You wanted to know what country I’m in?”

Alba nods again, still cautious. He’s starting to get a bad feeling, but he can’t back down now. 

“I’m in the Kingdom.”

“What?” Alba says blankly. “But- your story- there haven't been any natural disasters recently nearby...”

Had Ros been lying? But- that didn’t make sense. Why would...

“I imagine there hasn’t, not for you,” Ros says with a shrug. “But there have been for me.”

Alba’s confusion is just rising higher and higher by the minute. 

Ros continues, “It’s a simple answer, really. Does this help, Mage?”

He slips a hand under his shirt and takes out a notebook. 

A very, very familiar notebook. 

Alba’s hand immediately slips under his shirt as well, takes out the Calamity’s notebook he’s kept there whenever he could. 

He takes it out. 

“What?” Alba says, voice still blank. “How?”

“I admit they’re not exactly the same,” Ros says with a shrug. “At least, not yet.” He opens it to the first page and shows it to Alba. “See?”

Alba can’t make out a single sentence on the first page. It’s written in a language he can’t quite recognize- 

“Why is it written in your language?” 

“It isn’t a different language,” Ros corrects. “It’s an older version of the same language.” He snaps the book closed, runs a hand over it gently. “Of course, from your notes I’ve managed to grasp enough of your modern dialect to formulate a translation spell for text. I’ll be able to translate it before I leave it behind.”

He glances towards Alba. “This is why you began to visit me in my dreams, by the way. The notebook in close proximity combined with the Mana Maker I made? It was more than enough to trigger a resonance.”

“What do you mean-”

“By the Mana Maker I made, I mean the Mana Maker I made,” Ros says with a shrug. “The one I’m using right now. I’ve been slowly attuning it to your mana though. You do need to survive until you meet me.”

He sighs at Alba’s still flummoxed expression. “Do I need to say it outright?”

“That might… help,” Alba says weakly. 

“Fine then,” Ros says, then- “You’re a thousand years in the past, Mage. I’m the ‘Great Calamity’s’ son.”

Alba’s mind goes blank. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he hears himself say. 

“It makes perfect sense,” Ros disagrees. “It’s a natural closed loop. Because I met you, I attuned my Mana Maker to you and translated the notebook. You met me, because I attuned my Mana Maker to you and translated the notebook.”

“I think my head hurts.”

“Time magic is always a little confusing,” Ros says, sympathetic for once. “But it is what it is. All you need to understand is this-” he smiles bitterly. “There’s no saving me.”

Ros is from a thousand years ago. 

Ros is the Great Calamity’s son. 

Ros made his Mana Maker, Ros made the notebook readable-

So many thoughts are swirling in Alba’s mind, he doesn’t know what he should do. What he could do. 

Maybe he can still save Ros. Maybe it’s stupid to think he that, but he can’t bring himself to give up on that just yet. 

But for now-

Alba presses into Ros’ chest, hands clenching at the fabric of his shirt. 

“I’ll come every night,” Alba pledges. “Even if there’s really no way to save you- even if I can only ever reach you in our dreams- I promise. I won’t ever leave.”

“Mage…” Ros’ voice cracks. “I’m sorry.”

Alba’s bad feeling returns with a vengeance. “Why are you apologizing?”

“...I don’t know how it works in the modern era,” Ros says carefully, “But in my time, no one is imprisoned for a lifetime. It’s a terrible waste of food and space, after all.”

Alba frowns. “Are you saying they’re going to send you off to do hard labour or something?” 

“If they were going to do that, they would’ve done that from the start,” Ros says. “No, there’s always only been one end for me.”

Slowly, Alba leans back, then asks- “Ros, what do you mean?”

Ros won’t meet his gaze. 

“What do you _mean?_ ” Alba asks again, more urgent this time.

“...I said that the Festival of Sun has entertainment, didn’t I?” Ros says finally. “There’s a lot of different kinds, or so I hear. Jugglers, acrobatics troupes… public executions.”

Alba can’t hear anything but the roar in his ears.

“It’s a way to show off, you know,” Ros says with a humourless laugh. “To brag about how affluent they are. That they can afford to keep a prisoner alive for months, just so they can execute them where the most people will see.”

Alba feels a hand caress his cheek. 

“Close your mouth, Mage, you look like an idiot,” says Ros, surprisingly gently. “It’s fine. From the moment you met me, I’ve been a dead man. Things are just finally returning to the way they should be, that’s all.”

“No.”

Ros looks a little annoyed. “Mage…”

“I won’t accept this,” Alba says. 

He doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s cold and hard, and doesn’t have an ounce of warmth to it. 

“There’s nothing you can do.”

“That’s a lie,” Alba says, “Isn’t it, Ros?”

“I’ve been dead for a thousand years in your time,” Ros says with no little exasperation. “What do you think you can do?”

“I know you don’t think much of my magic skills,” continues Alba, “But at the very least, I’ve read the Calamity’s notebook from cover to cover, countless times. I can recite that notebook by heart at this point, even though there’s still a lot I don’t understand.” He meets Ros’ eyes with a steady gaze. “And one section I’ve never understood is the section on time.”

“ _No!_ ” Ros snaps. His voice is harsh- Alba’s never heard Ros sound this angry. “Don’t mess with things you don’t understand! Don’t you get that?”

“But you understand it, don’t you?” asks Alba, “Just teach me.”

“One step wrong,” Ros hisses, “And you create a new world instead of changing the original timeline.”

“All we need to do is leave behind the Mana Maker and the Calamity’s notebook for me to find, then leave behind a body double for your executioners to kill,” Alba says calmly. “If that’s the issue, isn’t it easy to save you without changing the timeline?”

“I’m going to be crucifixed,” Ros says flatly. “I’m going to be nailed to a cross for several days, until I die of dehydration or exhaustion- Mage. Calm down.”

Alba feels a hand placed on his shoulder in comfort, but it doesn’t help. He can’t stop trembling. 

“This isn’t fair,” he says, voice filled with fury. 

“Life isn’t fair,” Ros says snidely. “My point is, what kind of body double could we make that lasts that long? Your illusionary copies certainly wouldn’t survive that kind of treatment.”

“So you think the solution is to let yourself _die_ under that kind of treatment?”

Ros shrugs. 

Calm down. 

Alba needs to calm down, and _think._

Ros wasn’t being helpful. Why? If he truly wants to go to his death, then Alba doubts that he would give his executioners the pleasure of giving him such an excruciating one. 

Think. Why would Ros want this? Even if he didn’t want Alba to take whatever risks he would need to take to come save him, surely Ros could find a way to save himself. With all the knowledge and mana Ros had, it should be as easy as pie. 

To maintain the timeline? But Ros had been in the cell since before he even met Alba. If he wanted to leave, he would’ve left from the start. 

In fact, why did he go with the Kingdom’s soldiers in the first place? Now that Alba thinks about it, no matter how big the army, it should’ve been a simple matter for Ros to slip away. 

“Did they threaten to pillage your country if you didn’t go with them?” Alba asks. “But it’s been months now! Surely they wouldn’t march all the way back just to carry out revenge!”

“They did,” Ros says, sounding a little surprised. “And yes, I know that. This close to the execution date, they would cover everything up- find some substitute and use him as the Great Calamity to be executed by crucifixion.”

“Then why won’t you escape?” Alba asks helplessly. 

“To maintain the timeline-”

“We can maintain the timeline and save you!”

“Why can’t you just give it up?!” Ros snaps. “Crea died to save me, I’m not letting it happen again!”

Ros’ mouth slams shut. 

“Crea?” Alba echoes. “As in, Hero Crea?”

There’s terrible guilt in Ros’ expression, his entire body posture. 

_Ah._

“You don’t deserve to die.”

“I know that.”

“Just because Hero Crea died saving you doesn’t mean you’re guilty for his death!”

“I know that!” Ros snaps, looking wretched. “But that doesn’t change how I feel!”

“Ros-” starts Alba, distraught. 

“Please, Mage,” Ros pleads. “Just let it go.”

There’s silence for a few long moments. 

Finally, Alba opens his mouth again. 

“Ros,” Alba says again, “You have two choices.”

Ros’ eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

“Your first choice,” continues Alba, “is to refuse to cooperate with me. In this case, I’ll do my very best to understand what the notebook says about time magic on my own, and do whatever it takes to save you before Lulunlulun.”

“Mage-” Ros snaps, utterly furious, but Alba doesn’t let him continue. 

“You can’t convince me out of this,” Alba snaps right back. More gently, he continues, “Your second choice is to actually cooperate with me. In this case, maybe we’ll actually manage to figure everything out in time- and save you without changing history.” 

“Mage, listen to me very closely,” Ros says in pure frustration. “Time travel is always a crapshoot. Without some kind of beacon, it’s almost impossible to get to where you want to go. You’ll be able to make it to me, yes, fine, I admit it. The Mana Maker and notebook together can be easily used as a beacon. But there’s no way for us to get back to your time.”

“What if I left my notebook behind?”

“All that would let us do is narrow down the timeframe to sometime after you went back in time,” Ros explains, “It’s not strong enough on its own to serve as a beacon, and you can’t leave your Mana Maker behind because you’ll need to it to time travel at all.” His face is set. “I’m not lying, Mage. Read through the notebook carefully if you don’t trust me on this.”

“No, I trust you,” Alba says quietly. 

“Do you get it now?” Ros says with no little relief. “Saving me means abandoning your family, your apprentice. This isn’t just fleeing the country- they’ll never see you again, and they’ll die never truly knowing what happened to you. Can you really do that to them, Mage?”

“...I understand.”

“I’m glad we’re finally on the same pag-”

“-I’ve already said my goodbyes to my family,” Alba says calmly. “I’ll hand down the notebook to Salt, and say goodbye to him as well.”

“Mage, you-” Ros seems to be at a loss for words. “You can’t be serious. You’ve barely known me a year- you barely _know_ me!”

“I know more than enough,” Alba says stubbornly. “I know I’d punch Hero Sion in the face for you.”

Who was this asshole who went down in history as the slayer of the Great Calamity while Ros was rotting away in a dungeon? Alba would happily sock him in the face a few times. 

Ros just pinches his nose. “That’s what I mean when I say you barely know me, you realize.”

“I don’t get it,” Alba says truthfully. “But I don’t really care. You’re right that we haven’t known each other for that long, but that’s not the only reason I’m doing this.” He presses in, cups his hand over Ros’. “You don’t deserve this. What kind of person would I be if I just turned away and let you die?”

Ros stares at him in silent shock for a beat, two- then his gaze softens. 

“You trying to be a hero now, Mage?” he teases. “‘Great Mage’ isn’t grand enough of a title for you?”

“I just want to save my friend,” mumbles Alba. “Is that so bad?”

Ros sighs.

But he doesn't seem as angry anymore.

“Fine,” he says, “I can see I won’t convince you, so I won’t waste my breath.”

Alba brightens. “So then-”

Ros nods. “Let’s talk about what we need to do.”

* * *

The next weeks are a whirlwind of work. 

Ros takes over improving the illusionary clone spell- as the one with the greater depth of knowledge, it only makes sense. 

Alba, on the other hand, just gets a crash course in time travel. With two weeks until the deadline, there’s not much time for him to learn this- and he only gets one shot. 

He had asked why they had a deadline when it was time travel they were dealing with, but the answer he got was disappointing. 

“It’s because we’re connected,” Ros explained, “So in a way, my period of time and your period of time are actually happening at the same time." He shrugs. "That means we can talk every night like this- but it also means we can’t take advantage of infinite time.”

...Alba doesn’t really get it just yet, but he does understand that there’s nothing to be done. They have a deadline that needs to be met. He just needs to try his hardest to meet it.

He studies as much as he can, even in his waking hours. For once, he’s willing to do even what he hates during the day as well. 

It’s to save Ros, he tells himself, and that's enough to motivate him. 

And when the night before Lulunlulun finally comes, he thinks he’s as ready as he will be. 

(Which still isn’t as ready as he’d like, admittedly. But he would do his best regardless.)

He’s fairly sure he understands the concepts behind the spell to jump back, and he’s fairly sure it’ll be as simple as Ros says with the Mana Maker connection to rely on. 

It’s coming back that would be the real struggle, but… 

(He’s already resolved himself to leave.)

He knocks on the door to Salt’s room. 

“Alba-san?” Salt says when he opens the door, confused. “What are you doing here so late?”

“I just wanted to talk,” Alba says, and though Salt still seems confused, he lets him in. 

Once the door is closed shut, Alba presses the Calamity’s notebook in Salt’s hands. 

“Alba-san?” Salt says again. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not going to flee with you and Hime-chan tomorrow,” Alba says calmly. 

“What?!” Salt cries, but Alba immediately shushes him. With a cough, Salt lowers his voice. “What do you mean?”

“I have something else I need to do,” explains Alba, “So I can’t come with you.”

“The King will throw you in jail for life if you stay!” Salt hisses, his voice growing more panicked. 

Alba just shakes his head. “I’m not staying either. Salt, I-" he swallows. "I found out where Ros is. And I can’t leave him to rot.”

Salt is looking more confused by the second. “Wherever he is, wouldn’t it make more sense to escape with us first?”

“It’s- complicated,” Alba says haltingly. “Just trust me when I say that I can’t come. And that I don’t know if I’ll be able to come back.”

Salt jolts at that, looking dismayed. “Alba-san, what-”

“-But,” Alba says firmly, pointing a finger at the notebook in Salt’s hands. “If you keep that safe, then maybe one day, I’ll be able to return.”

“The… Calamity’s notebook?” Salt grips it tight. 

“Yeah,” Alba says, then flicks his eyes closed. “I’m- sorry that I’m leaving this all to you.”

He should be the one fixing his mistakes, the one leading the way to spread magic to everyone. 

Instead, out of his own selfishness, he would be leaving this all to Salt. He trusted Salt, he knew he could do it- but that didn’t make it any less selfish. 

“...No,” says Salt, voice small. “Don’t say that. I, um, don’t really understand what’s going on. And I don’t want you to leave. But-” He bites his lip briefly, then continues, “If I can pay you back even a bit by doing this, then I will. I promise I won’t let you down.”

“You don’t have to pay me back for anything.”

“I know I don’t have to,” Salt says, then smiles. “But I want to.” 

“Salt,” Alba starts, guilt rising up in his throat. 

But Salt just shakes his head. 

“It’s fine.” he laughs. “I mean, I owe a lot to Ros-san too, for everything he taught me through you. Do what you need to, Alba-san.” He presses the notebook closer to his chest, and grins brightly. “Leave the rest to me.”

* * *

Alba could tell that Salt was forcing his smile. 

He could see that Salt was blinking a little too rapidly. 

But there’s nothing he can do but accept Salt’s goodwill, and thank him as much as he can. 

Then, finally, he returns to his room. 

The illusionary spell of himself he casts wouldn’t last long with him gone from the timeline, but it shouldn’t be fine. A day would do. 

What Ros was probably setting up right now was far more complex. Creating a mindless physical body through magic, programming a complex set of orders into it, connecting it to the Mana Maker that would be left behind so it would last for days…

Alba has no idea how he’d even start making something like that. 

(Maybe one day Ros can teach him.)

With a deep breath, he sits himself down on his bed. 

He needs to keep his clothes to a bare minimum, so he’s reluctantly abandoned his cape in favour of a simple t-shirt and shorts. Carefully, carefully, he spreads a shield over himself- if he didn’t do this right, apparently there was an entire host of side effects he could experience. The Great Calamity hadn’t mentioned that in his notebook- he had to find this all out from Ros. 

When the magic shield finally closes itself entirely, Alba does a final look around. 

He’s spent the past decade in this room, and it would be a lie to say he had no attachment to it. But it’s not the room that’s making him waver. 

Is he really ready to say goodbye to everything? 

His parents flash in his mind, and it’s enough to make him hesitate for the briefest of moments. But then he looks down at his hands, remembers Ros, remembers Ros _waiting for him_ , and-

His resolve returns. 

And with a final deep breath-

Alba casts the spell.

* * *

He lands face-first on the stone floor, and the first sound that hits his ears is snickering. 

“You don’t look like a very reliable saviour, you know.”

Alba looks up. 

There’s Ros, smiling down at him. Ros, in the flesh- Ros, actually there with him. 

...To be honest, he doesn’t look any different from their dreams, but it was the principle of the thing that mattered. 

Alba’s chest feels warm as he scrambles to his feet. 

“Are you ready?” he asks quietly. 

Ros takes Alba’s hands in his own. 

“Ready whenever, Mage,” he says, voice soft for once. 

Then Alba presses Ros into his chest and ruins it, because Ros yelps and sputters- “What are you doing?”

“What if we accidentally let go of each other?” Alba worries. “This is safer.”

“Warn me first next time,” Ros grumbles. But in the end, he obediently wraps his arms tight around Alba. 

(It feels nice, really nice, but Alba bulldozes those thoughts aside.) 

“Okay,” says Alba with a cough, “I’m going to cast the spell.”

“Do it, Mage,” Ros replies. “I’m still ready.”

And with a twist of the mana inside of him-

He casts them off into the future towards the faintest hint of the notebook. 

He hopes they return to his time. He hopes he can see Salt and his parents again. 

But if he can’t-

He’ll mourn. Maybe even for the rest of the life. 

But he won’t regret it. 

(Not when Ros is so warm in his arms.)

**Author's Note:**

> The original fates of the beta 0verse characters:
> 
>   * Hero Sion: Dies via crucifixion after being blamed for his father's crimes
>   * Great Mage Alba: Manipulated by the King into helping him take over half the world. Revolts against the King but ends up spending his entire life in jail.
>   * Salt: Alba's apprentice. Alba helps him flee the country and spread magic among the people in his stead
> 

> 
> As you can see, this universe was in dire need of a fix-it ;w; 
> 
> I decided to separate Part 2 of this work into a separate fic, as I plan to write it from Ros' POV and it'll be a lot fluffier than this one, but there will be a continuation. Feel free to imagine your own ending to this fic if you don't like the Part 2 though, haha.
> 
> Thank you for reading to the end! I hope you enjoyed ♥


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